


Death Grips, the lore-friendly companion

by spasticbirdie



Category: Death Grips - Fandom, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Song Lyrics, Songfic, does this count as a songfic? i'm counting it as a
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-06 23:24:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10346928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spasticbirdie/pseuds/spasticbirdie
Summary: The Courier meets a strange new companion at the Mojave Outpost.Series of one-shots based off a series of good posts by @ohnoproblems.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This all started with some [really](http://ohnoproblems.tumblr.com/post/122214030054/the-courier-death-grips-i-got-you-this-new) [good](http://ohnoproblems.tumblr.com/post/122440303584/the-courier-shouting-death-grips-are-you-okay) [posts](http://ohnoproblems.tumblr.com/post/122239874429/the-courier-death-grips-look-out-theres-an-enemy) by eva ohnoproblems that some people turned into really good audio posts and I turned into awful crack fic.

“Who’s that guy in the corner?”

The Courier’s words came through their rebreather with a scratchy tone. Their ranger helmet and gasmask, which had a couple of bullet holes through the forehead, hid their face and masked their voice. The tight booty shorts, high cowboy boots, vest, and harness they wore enticed onlookers, but the wide-brimmed cowboy hat sitting on their head and the wicked-looking nailgun sitting on their hip scared them off just as quickly.

Lacey looked down where the Courier’s pointing finger indicated, then quickly looked back and continued pouring them a drink.

“Him?” Casting another glance down at the corner table, Lacey lowered her voice and leaned in. “Don’t know him, but he rolled in here a couple nights ago. They say he came in from the Long 15. No clue how he survived the rads, let alone the Marked Men. Hasn’t said more than two words to anyone since then.” She took another quick, nervous look. “Hell of it is, he was wearing just the same thing he’s wearing now.”

The Courier took another look down the bar. The figure sitting at the corner table was a half-naked man, only a pair of ripped, dirty jeans that looked practically pre-war hanging on his legs. He was skinny enough that you could see his ribs, but it wasn’t a malnutritioned sort of skinny; more like a hard, hungry, ready to kill at a moment’s notice skinny. His upper chest was covered in tattoos; a pentagram, a skull, strings of numbers, and black bars circling his arms. His face was just as thin as the rest of him, and ringed with a thick, wiry black beard that contrasted his shaved head.

“You want my two cents, he’s fucking crazy. Heard that last night, he went out and took a bite out of one of the brahmin. Just, walked up, chomped off one of its ears, just like that.”

“Huh.” The Courier swallowed their drink through their gasmask in one motion and waved for another.

“And those tats…geez, I don’t even want to know how he got those. Fucked up.”

“I bet.” Another drink splashed through the rebreather and the Courier motioned for yet another.

“Don’t really even know his name. Well, he signed Knight’s logbook ‘Death Grips’ but...that can’t be a name, right? I mean, there’s only one of him, so it should be ‘Death Grip,’ ri…”

Lacey trailed off as the Courier stood, knocking their stool back with their last drink. Slamming the glass down on the table, they walked purposefully towards the corner table where the man sat.

The Courier pulled back a chair at the corner table, sat, kicked their feet up, and stared at the man. Death Grips stared back, eyes sunken in his skull. Sitting on the table in front of him, alongside a plate of brahmin meat and an empty glass, was a shotgun; lever action, 12 gauge by the looks of it, the Courier reckoned.

“Nice to meet you. I’m the Courier,” the Courier said. “Where ya from, stranger?”

“FUCK WHERE YOU FROM, FUCK WHERE YOU GOING, IT’S ALL ABOUT WHERE YOU’RE AT.”

The Courier nodded. “I hear that. So no plans right now, I guess?”

“EVERYBODY’S KNOWIN’, WHERE YA THINK YOU’RE GOIN’, AIN’T GOIN’ NOWHERE.”

“I agree, there really aren’t many caravans coming through here recently.” The Courier pulled a flask from their pocket and filled Death Grips’ glass. “So, the Long 15. Not much going on there since it got nuked. How’d you even make it?”

“SEEN CRAZY SHIT, MAN CRAZY SHIT.”

“I’ll bet. Marked Men got that whole strip on lockdown.” The Courier drummed their fingers on the table. “So, here’s what I’m thinking; you look like the kind of guy who can hold their own in a fight, and I’ve probably still got a couple fights to fight. You feel like goin’ my way?”

“HELL YEAH, FUCK YEAH, I FEEL LIKE KILLIN’ IT.” Death Grips stood suddenly, picking up his shotgun. “ALRIGHT, THAT’S TIGHT WHAT IT’S LIKE TO EXPERIENCE.”

The Courier clapped, kicked their feet off the table, and stood as well. “Sounds great!” They offered a handshake to Death Grips.

“DON’T TOUCH ME.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the courier and death grips go to ~~white castle~~ vault 3

“Gnrrrk,” the Courier said as the Fiend backhanded them across the face, grabbed them by the throat, slammed their head against the tabletop, dragged their face through several rows of bottles and other hard, sharp objects, and then pressed one arm across their throat and drew his knife, licking the blade before bringing it high above his head.

As the knife swung downward, the Courier summoned the last of their strength and grabbed the blade, slowing its progress towards their face. Weakly, they kicked at the Fiend’s crotch, but their leather boots only clanged off the burnished codpiece of his metal armor. The Fiend laughed. The Courier began to black out.

_ Guess this is it, _ the Courier thought.  _ Never even got to tell Death Grips...how…I...feel…about...hi- _

“YOU’LL CATCH A JPEG TO THE HEAD!”

The familiar, rough voice of Death Grips cut through the black fog covering the Courier’s vision, and suddenly, a heavy computer monitor crashed onto the fiend’s head, the screen shattering and raining glass down on the Courier. The Fiend’s entire body shook with the electricity, and then he flopped over, dead.

The Courier shoved the heavy corpse off and stood. Death Grips was standing over the body, reloading his shotgun. Behind him lay the corpses of a dozen other Fiends, most of which had been shot, stabbed, burned, dismembered, electrocuted, exploded, liquified, or otherwise made very much not alive. The second to last one had seemingly shat his guts out and died on the spot, and the last one had been the one almost stabbing and strangling the Courier.

“Thanks, Death Grips. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“FRONT ROW AT THE MASS GRAVE.”

The Courier nodded. “Probably.” The Courier picked up their chainsaw where it had fallen, giving the motor a few quick revs. “There’s still their boss to deal with. Let’s go.”

“NOT THE FIRST WON’T BE THE LAST.”

“Right. Let’s be on guard.”

The two continued deeper into the Vault, the telltale signs of the Fiends everywhere; loads of trash, bloodstains on the walls, and even the occasional corpse which the Courier was quick to loot. Finally, they came to an airlock, and after the Courier kicked it a couple times, decided it was locked.

“Hmm…” The Courier rubbed their chin, thinking. “How to get through this…”

“WHY CAN’T I JUST GO THROUGH THE WALLS, THROUGH THE WALLS!”

“No, if we used C4 we’d bring the whole vault down on us.” The Courier noticed a code lock on the side of the door. “Aha! We just need a five digit code…Maybe…” Pulling out a note they had found elsewhere in the vault, the Courier handed the memo to Death Grips. “There’s part of the code on here; it starts 808. Can you hack the rest?”

“I KNOW THE FIRST THREE NUMBERS.”

“Great! I’ll keep watch!” The Courier stood guard as Death Grips fiddled with the panel. A shower of sparks flew from the wall, and finally the locks on the door opened with a pneumatic hiss.

“HACKED INTO IT.”

“Alright…” The Courier revved their chainsaw and stood on the threshold. “Once we get in there, there’s gonna be Fiends all around us. What’s the plan?”

“KEEP EM GUESSING ENDLESSLY, NEVER LET EM KNOW WHERE YOU’RE HEADED.”

“Great plan, Death Grips. I’ll rush ‘em, and you stay back and pick ‘em off. Ready?”

“HOT SHIT, COLD SHIT, OKAY MOTHHAFUCKA LET’S DO THIS.”


End file.
